


Mob Mentality

by xiuxi



Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Witch Hunts, Worldbuilding, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5486792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiuxi/pseuds/xiuxi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A newly graduated Mafioso arrives in the Town of Salem. How long will he survive against the witch-hunting townies, the psychotic serial killers and the unfunny jesters?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mob Mentality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dizmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizmo/gifts).



> Thanks to [primeideal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal) for the beta!

It’s the first night in the new town and our consort is suddenly absent without leave. As a Mafioso, I have been prepared for all eventualities, but this seems particularly unfair. A mafia team without a consort is a little bit like Christmas without Santa – someone has to provide the entertainment. 

Before I continue our story, allow me to explain our circumstances a little bit. My name is Samuel Parris and I am a Mafioso. I am aware that this sounds like I am going to an AA meeting for disgruntled mobster members, but in reality I am very proud of my line of work. I have recently completed a three-year stint at _The Bratva School of Organized Crime and Villainy_ , the most prestigious school in mafia education. I have studied the Art of Hit and Runs, the Philosophy of Shotguns, the Sociology of Intimidation and General Stealth. I majored in Embezzlement and now, here I am, in the Town of Salem, for my first assignment as a fully-fledged Mafioso. There is not much I cannot do. I have read all of the instructional pamphlets _: Being Promoted to Godfather – what Il Castafiore Doesn’t Want You to Know_ , _To Kill or be Killed – Snipers, Pepper spray and You_ and _Disguising for Fun and Profit – the Gorbachev Mask Conundrum_.

This is my very first assignment as a Mafioso. I am supposed to follow my Godfather in everything: administrating kills, covering up what needs to be covered, making sure that all team operations run smoothly. We are a strong four-man team; a Disguiser, a Consort, our Dear Leader and then me, the Mafioso. 

We meet in a shed next to my Witches' Hovel to plan out the activities of the night. It is the first night, and as every student of the art of mafia games knows, the first night is the most important. Everything has to run smoothly and it is absolutely necessary to score a clean hit. But now that the Consort is gone, we’re worried that the whole operation won’t work. Moreover, the Disguiser has started grumbling. He wants to disguise tonight, and we absolutely cannot let him do that. “Refer to the Mafia Manual, side 378, paragraph 7,” the Godfather says with gritted teeth. “It is not wise for a disguiser to disguise when there are wills in play.” 

“But I want to,” the Disguiser grumbles. “I have nothing else to do tonight. Please let me disguise as Deodat Lawson. Pretty please, with sugar on top.”

“No,” the Godfather says. “You may not disguise yourself.”

“But I brought a beard,” the Disguiser says with his shoulders slumping. 

“No disguising,” the Godfather says impatiently. “Let’s get to tonight’s main event. The murder.”

All three of us nod slowly.

“Go for the one who calls himself _lordminiStalin237,_ ” the Godfather directs. 

I sharpen my blade and sneak out. The killing is swift and merciless. I will be back with plenty of time to work on my will. Tomorrow, I will be a respectable man, a pretend Sheriff. No one will notice a single thing.

***

I wake up early on the second day to prepare for the town meeting. I put on my best clothes, comb my hair and practice my best “I don’t know what you’re talking about” face in the mirror. We meet up at the town square, next to the guillotine. Some of the townies are dragging out dead bodies – two in total – so that we all can see what the night has wrought. “The Serial Killer has killed a Medium,” the Town Crier announces. “A member of the mafia has killed a Bodyguard. Ladies and Gentlemen – there are no wills. I repeat, there are no wills from the deceased.” 

The Town Crier falls silent as nervous townies gather round to get a good look at the corpses. The mood is tense. In the back of the crowd a Jester opens his mouth to sing an annoying little song. You can always spot a Jester from a mile away; they all make a lot of bad jokes. If the jokes don’t give them away, just look for the little hat with the bells. 

The crowds disperse without much chatter as the dusk draws closer. We have another night of mayhem to look forward to. 

***

The consort is still nowhere to be seen, but we still have a battle to fight. We have gathered our decimated troops in the shed again. Our Godfather is delighted. 

“Two townies down and not a single suspect,” he beams. “Things are certainly going our way.”

“We have to be careful though,” the Disguiser interjects. “There is a Serial Killer in our midst.”

“At the moment, he will work as our ally,” the Godfather says and nods sagely. “There will come a time when he might need to be disposed of, however.”

The Disguiser looks impatient. 

“Can I disguise tonight?” he pleads.

“No,” we tell him in unison. 

Together we choose our next victim, a gentle soul in a black suit. As I fetch my handgun, the Disguiser looks at me and tells me to be careful. 

These words will haunt me for a long time to come. 

*******

The dawn breaks and I have a general feeling of unease. I shower, shave and put on my best townie outfit. The town square is filled with concerned people. Everyone is waiting to hear what the Town Crier has to say. 

“The mafia has killed a Retributionist. A Serial Killer has killed a Disguiser. I repeat, a Serial Killer has killed a Disguiser. One mafia member down. Gather round to look at their wills.”

I get a quick look at the Godfather’s face and I notice that he shakes his head a little. Even though I have read _Preparing for the Eventual and Inevitable Demise of a Dear Family Member_ from start to finish, I cannot help feeling a little bit shaken. The Disguiser seemed so alive last night, so full of energy and determination. And now he’s dead. 

But the show must go on. I put on my best game face and lean into a neighboring townie:

“Serial Killer, huh?” I say casually. Her eyes are filled with fear and suspicion. 

“We’ll need to catch him,” she says. “Otherwise, the whole town will be obliterated.”

I nod in agreement and thus the town meeting ends. 

*******

Suddenly, without warning, our consort is back. He looks slightly flustered, but since we are one man down, we can’t be choosy. The Consort gets into his comfortable yet inviting get-up and prepares to leave. 

“I am going to see Thomas Danforth. He certainly looks like he could use some company.”

The consort smiles at us and leaves. It is time to get down to business.

“Martha Corey is very talkative,” I volunteer. “I am pretty sure that she is some kind of town investigative.”

“She certainly seems very knowledgeable,” the Godfather agrees. “And knowledge is a dangerous thing in a game that thrives on lies.”

“Shall we end her, then?”

“You will administer the kill on my command.”

“Yes, sir.”

I am thankful to have such a wise and perceptive leader. It certainly helps when we are down in numbers like this. We don’t have much time left, so I fetch my matchsticks and kerosene and go to work. 

*******

A new dawn arises and the people of Salem hurry to the town square to get the latest news. Today’s body count is two, and when I look around I can see grey and ashen faces. The Town Crier yells out the names of the deceased. The mafia has killed Martha Corey, the Lookout. The Serial Killer has gotten the Jester. It is an interesting choice of kill, because the Jester is fairly obvious, but maybe the Serial Killer has his reasons. Or maybe he’s just insane. You just never know with a Serial Killer. 

The will of the lookout holds some interesting information. Martha Corey is pointing her nosy little fingers towards a Mister John Proctor. She thinks he is the Serial Killer. The crowd around me starts to whisper. I avoid making eye contact with my Godfather, since the Mafia Manual clearly states that “no connections shall ever be made between members of the Family during daylight hours.”

“I have been framed,” John Proctor says loudly enough for everybody to hear. “I am an honest man and I would never, ever dream of skulking around in the dark with a pickaxe in my hand.”

“Burn him,” a voice cries out. 

“Yes, burn the Serial Killer,” Sarah Bishop says as she leans her arm on her pitchfork. 

The crowd goes wild and strong arms grab John Proctor and force him towards the pyre. 

“Innocent,” he yells, but the crowd just shakes their heads at him and quickly administers his execution. We are all relieved when the results come in and we can verify that John Proctor indeed was the Serial Killer. 

***

“Hey, hey, hey,” says the Consort as he saunters in. “Guess who I’m doing today?”

He pauses with a big expectant smile on his face.

“That grumpy old man in the town square corner.”

I don’t like this Consort. He is bordering on unprofessional, he doesn’t take directions and he does not follow orders. I know that the Higher Education for Familially Affiliated Working Girls and Boys is slightly more lax than the standard mafia education, but there is simply no excuse for inappropriate behavior. 

The Godfather nods disapprovingly and waves the consort away. He turns to me and says: 

“We are getting down to the wire now. Severussnapewifey is very quiet at town meetings; I suspect that she is the Jailor.”

“Maybe she’s just got something to hide.”

“She is probably taking a lot of notes during the day. She needs to be _dealt_ with.”

I nod. There is no one more equipped to deal with jailors than me. I fetch my bow and flame arrows and say goodbye to the Godfather. Hopefully, my efforts won’t be fruitless. 

***

The good news is that we kill the Jailor. The bad news is that our idiot Consort waltzes straight into a grumpy, 55-year-old war veteran with a readied shotgun. We’re down to two men now, and I am starting to get slightly worried. There are still plenty of townies left and we need to take over this town. 

I say a silent prayer for our late Consort and pretend that I’m really happy for the Veteran. A voice rises from the back of the crowd:

“I have an announcement to make,” a quiet, plain man volunteers. “I work as a spy and I eavesdrop a lot. I believe I have found the remaining mafia members. William Phips is the Godfather and Samuel Parris is the Mafioso.”

Damn it. A spy! I can’t believe he has been standing next to our shed the whole time. What about the time when the Godfather and I bonded over our mutual fondness for that yellow My Little Pony they call Fluttershy? 

We should have used code names. It is right there in the book, the Mafia Manual: “Always use code names in case the Spy is a creeper.”

“Who shall we get first?” the Veteran asks the crowd. 

“The Godfather. Get the Godfather. Burn him,” the crowd chants. 

They grab the Godfather by the collar and my heart breaks in two. He is such a good man, a perfect leader, someone to look up to. What can I do without him?

The Godfather clears his throat. 

“I am not mafia,” he says. “I am just a simple accountant. A town protective accountant. Kind towards children and animals. A family man.”

“Burn him,” the crowd sings. “Burn the Godfather.”

I almost cannot look as they lead him away, but I need to get a last glimpse of his beautiful face.

“Win for me,” he mouths towards me. “Win for all of us. Win for your family.”

I almost cry when the life vanishes from his face as he goes up in flames.

*******

All is lost. I am all alone now, and it is only a matter of time. They will get me with their pitchforks and their highly flammable logs. According to my calculations, there are five people left. A random townie, a Veteran, a Spy, some kind of neutral being and me. I have no hope of winning this thing. 

I decide to kill the Spy out of revenge. It is fairly easy since he’s standing outside of my shed and breathing funnily. I get some satisfaction out of utilizing my exquisite Elizabethan flail, and so the spy goes down. 

I spend the rest of the night looking at the stars and thinking about the Godfather. May he rest in peace until we meet again in the great game lobby above. 

*******

I put on my best suit for the final town meeting. The crowd has thinned conspicuously, but I still see some familiar faces. The Town Crier is there and I am studying his face as I await my impending execution. 

“A spy has been killed by the mafia,” he yells at the top of his lungs. “And a Sheriff has been killed by a Veteran.”

My heart skips a beat. 

That stupid sheriff. 

That absolutely wonderful stupid sheriff. 

There might be a chance for us after all. A faint chance, but still. 

I have waited for this moment for a good many years of my life. Finally, I can put all of my knowledge to use, all of the hours I have studied and studied, furiously striving to be the best Mafioso in class. I clear my throat as I recall the final chapter of the Mafia Manual, _Winning the Endgame_ _and Making Your Family Proud_.

“I am Samuel Parris, the newly promoted Godfather, formerly Mafioso,” I say. “Is there any Survivor left in the game?”

A short man slowly raises his hand.

“Vote with me,” I plead. “Vote with me, and we’ll win.”

“Eh, whatever, I just want to live. I’ll vote with you,” the Survivor says. 

The face of the Veteran sinks.

“Let’s hang the Vet,” I say in a jauntily singing voice. “No – wait - _burn_ him.”

The survivor smiles at me. We light our torches as we tie him to the stake. 

_One win for the mafia_ , I think to myself as I watch the beautiful, sparkling pyre. _Let’s get to the next town, shall we?_


End file.
